***WARNING***
If you have a sensitive gag-reflex you may want to skip this post.
Earlier today I sat on the couch watching a movie with Curtis cuddled up, oh-so-sweetly, on my lap. I glanced down and noticed that he had drifted off to sleep. I was about to mention to Ian that I didn't think our little boy was feeling well when, lo-and-behold, he jerked awake and began to...how shall I say it? Puke? Ralph? Spew? Hurl? Blow chunks? Well...he began to lose his lunch. And his breakfast. (And perhaps some internal organs...I can't be sure.) I quickly yelled at Ian to grab a towel while I strategically positioned myself between the forthcoming offense and my couch.
That's right...I allowed myself to be completely saturated in unmentionable disgustingness in order to protect my sofa from a defilement it never would have recovered from. A younger version of myself would most likely have run, screaming, in order to be as far away from the mess as possible. But the 37 year-ol Amy knew that a couch covered in that much wretchedness would need to be replaced...and it's just not in the budget for January 2011. If that doesn't demonstrate some frugality and responsibility, I don't know what does.
Hello adulthood...it's nice to meet you.
